


for one so small, you seem so strong

by hummingbird_salt



Series: Borrower!Vasquez [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Borrowers Fusion, Gen, borrower au, borrower!vas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingbird_salt/pseuds/hummingbird_salt
Summary: Folks like Vasquez don't live their lives in plain sight. Hiding is a way of life, something instilled in each member of his kind from the very beginning. They can't be safe, can't survive without staying in the shadows.





	for one so small, you seem so strong

**Author's Note:**

> So I posted this on tumblr a while back, and I finally got around to posting it on here! I wanted to tweak it a little bit first, so for anyone who might've read this on tumblr, there are some minor changes. And to everyone reading it now, please enjoy! ^_^

Folks like Vasquez don't live their lives in plain sight. Hiding is a way of life, something instilled in each member of his kind from the very beginning. They can't be safe, can't survive without staying in the shadows.

Vasquez has had his entire life to get used to obscurity. Born a borrower, the world has marked him unlucky. Very much like a human, but far too small for the world around him. He doesn't live the way big people do, assured and ambitious, going wherever they please.   

Instead, he lives in the walls of a saloon, tucked just out of sight. He's resided there a good long while, though it's far from the first place he's made into a home.

Caution may take precedence more often than not, but he's never been one to let fear rule his actions. He's learned how to slip his way into a human's travel bag when he grows tired of being in one place for too long.  He takes foolish risks, some out of necessity and others for the sheer thrill of a challenge. Some days he wonders what his mamá would think of him now, far more reckless than she'd ever allowed, and he doubts he could argue with her judgment. Humans are strong; they tower above and stomp against the ground below, sparing little attention to the world at their feet. No matter one's courage, such creatures ought to be feared.

Over time, he's put together a useful set of tools for his "borrowing". He collects bits and pieces from every place he lives, leaving some things behind. One tool, in particular, has come along in every travel bag. 

A small, functioning gun. He'd fashioned it for himself years ago, and often keeps it on his person. It doesn't work like a human's gun, but it provides some sense of security, and it's plenty useful for scaring off rats.  

It falls from his hand one day, right onto the floor of the saloon. 

Vasquez watches it descend, chest going tight.  He barely suppresses the urge to follow after it.

He'd been walking across the rafters, as he does from time to time, trying to spot anything of interest. Drifters often possess small items he can use, and Vasquez likes to keep a close eye on things. Unfortunately, one stumble in the midst of his surveillance had cost him his gun.  

He stares at it, glinting far below a crowd of humans. Attempting to retrieve it while surrounded by so many eyes is out of the question. All he can do is hope it isn't crushed by one of several large boots worn by the men below him.

The squeak of a chair catches his attention. His eyes move toward the sound, watching as a man across the room stands from a game of cards. The human nods his head, lips quirking ever so slightly around his cigarette.

"A pleasure playing with you, gentlemen." He lifts his hat from the table.

The other men don't seem to share in his delight, and the reason is plain. The man collects a substantial amount of winnings from the table, depositing them all in his hat. Lucky for him, the others don't question the validity of his success, but Vasquez doubts they'd have any interest in playing another round.

Untroubled by their discontent, the man leaves the table, walking towards the door. Vasquez focuses on the earnings in the hat, trying to see if there are any useful trinkets. His attention shifts when the man comes to a stop in the middle of the room.

The man looks at the floor, head tilting a bit. He crouches down, extending his hand towards something, and Vasquez can only watch.

His eyes widen.  The human lifts a small gun— _his_ gun—from the floor, looking down at it with a great deal of interest. For whatever reason, the enormous nuisance of a man decides he finds it interesting enough to slip into his vest pocket. He strides out of the saloon, casually taking away Vasquez's most valued possession.

The borrower all but growls in frustration. He scrambles to his feet, unwilling to waste a moment in making his way down from the rafters.

With any luck, the man who's stolen his gun will be staying at the inn, and Vasquez will be able to reclaim his weapon.

* * *

Making his way over to the inn is a quick and easy affair. Vasquez has a series of memorized routes, spread all throughout the walls and floors, secret passageways he'd gradually outfitted with ropes and ladders.

No one is around when he reaches the inn's desk, so he climbs his way up to see the guest book.

There are five names, all men, and all in different rooms. He sighs, knowing this may take him a while, if the man he's looking for is even here at all. But with a quick, mental shrug, he sets off towards the closest room. He's far too stubborn to let someone take what belongs to him, and it's not as though he has anything better to do.

Only when he arrives at the fourth potential room does he find the thief he's looking for. The sun has set, and the man is lying in bed with his arm hanging off the side, his hand inches from a half-empty bottle of whiskey. The lamp is still lit and the man is still dressed, only rid of his shoes. While Vasquez had hoped his vest would be slung over a chair, he counts himself lucky that the human is asleep.

Eyeing the man's vest pocket, Vasquez takes a deep breath. He's fully aware how reckless a task this is, but he's unwilling to give in so late in his efforts. Approaching the bed, he digs into the small pack slung over his shoulder. He pulls out a long rope assembled with a hook and, once he's close enough, swings it up towards the bed. When it's lodged firmly between the mattress and bedpost, he gets straight to climbing.

The ascent is brief, only a small distance compared to the heights he normally scales.

When he reaches the top, his movements slow, and he crawls onto the mattress cautiously. After a moment, he rises to his feet, planting them firmly on the bed. He keeps his head down at first, focusing on his steps as he walks forward a bit. Just as he passes the man's ankle, he lifts his gaze, dismayed at how quickly his heart picks up speed.

While he does manage to keep calm, he can't help feeling unsettled at the sight of what is, to him, a slumbering giant.

Being so close makes the difference in size seem far more significant, and the feeling isn't helped when the man suddenly shifts in his sleep. Massive hips buck up abruptly before falling back down, sending a slight tremor through the mattress. Though the movement is small, Vasquez stumbles back a bit, barely resisting the urge to steady himself against the man's leg. He bites his lip, struck with the sudden reminder that one unfortunate toss or turn could knock him to the floor or leave him trapped under a crushing weight.

Deciding he should get this over with as quickly as possible, Vasquez continues moving forward. Edging along carefully, he soon reaches the man's belt. He knows the vest won't be the easiest climb, so he latches onto the belt loop, heaving himself up with as little noise as possible.

Glancing over, he sees the man is still sleeping, so he climbs further, using the edge of the belt to haul himself upward. He stands slowly on the human's right hip, shoulders hunched nervously as he looks toward the lower left pocket of the vest. His eyes shift to ensure the man is still asleep before he makes his next move.

Carefully, he puts one foot forward, biting his lip when it sinks into the soft skin of the man's belly. But he knows he can't delay, can't waste his time worrying what _might_ wake the human. His feet step as softly as they can, treading across the rising and falling surface, and it takes him hardly any time to reach the pocket. He settles himself in front of it, knees pressing into skin and fabric.

Suddenly, the form below him shifts, pushing up as the man lets out a small sigh. Vasquez grabs onto the vest in alarm, heart stuttering in his chest. But the movements settle as quickly as they'd started. One quick glance shows him that the human's eyes are still closed, and he exhales slowly in relief.

Turning back towards the pocket, he lifts it up to peer inside. Buried under a match tin and some lint, he sees his gun, glinting in the candlelight. He crawls halfway into the pocket, taking hold of the weapon and shuffling back out quick as he can. Right away, the gun is slipped back in its holster where it belongs, and he smiles at his accomplishment.

Unfortunately, burrowed even so briefly in the man's pocket, he'd been distracted at the worst moment. Focused on his gun, he'd failed to notice the slight change in the human's breathing below him.

He stands casually, certain he's succeeded, eyes focused on the rope he'd attached to the bed. Vaguely, his ears register a sound. An abrupt noise from behind, something like a deep, drowsy grumble and then--

"The _hell_?"

Vasquez freezes, the sound of two sleepily murmured words making his body stiffen instantly. Several thoughts speed through his mind, the loudest among them being a string of frustrated curses at his own stupidity. He'd known this was a huge risk, but somehow he'd convinced himself he could pull it off.

Now, standing right in plain view on top of what _had_ been a soundly resting human, his confidence is more than a little rattled. He clenches his hands tightly, trying to shake off the unpleasant chill he'd felt at the man's voice rumbling beneath his feet. Reluctantly, he turns, swallowing hard as he looks towards the human. If not for the potential danger of the situation, he might laugh.

A disoriented gaze meets his own, and two large eyes widen in disbelief. The man looks utterly bewildered, hair sticking this way and that, his mouth hanging open. From afar, it might've given Vasquez a good chuckle, but being the focus of this human's gawking isn't his idea of amusing.

With no other option available, Vasquez decides to try and take advantage of the man's shock. Rushing to the side, he makes his way across the stomach, his feet doing their best on the unsteady surface. Unfortunately for him, this human is far more curious than he is gob-smacked.

"Whoa, _hey_ ," the same voice protests, still a bit drowsy but far more alert now that the subject of his interest is running away.

Before Vasquez has even managed to get off the expanse of the vest, the world is tilting, causing him to lose his balance. He falls, rolling helplessly onto the man's thigh then further down onto the mattress. In all the confusion, he vaguely realizes the damnable human had sat up and left him to flail his way down awkwardly.

After landing on his stomach, he scrambles to his hands and knees. With two massive legs acting as barriers, there's nowhere he can easily run, but he'd at least like to regain some level of dignity. He isn't given the chance; a shadow falls over him, growing darker as he feels a slight pressure settle on top of him.

The fabric of his vest is pulled back in a tight pinch, and something strong tugs forcibly at the garment, yanking him upward. Arms and legs tucking instinctively, he lets out a short cry. His stomach drops from the rising motion, and everything moves past him in a chaotic blur as he sails up into the air.

Two enormous eyes make contact with his.

He dangles from the hold of the man's thumb and forefinger, squirming around in a useless effort to get free, his breathing panicked and hurried. The man stares in disbelief, and Vasquez tries to avert his gaze. No matter where he looks, some part of the human fills his vision, and the most he's able to do is avoid the man's eyes.

Though he certainly isn't afraid of heights, he quickly finds that looking down makes his stomach lurch. Nearly every day sees him climbing much higher, but he isn't accustomed to hanging by his vest, not at _any_ height. His eyes squeeze shut, unable to find a decent place to focus.

Soon, though, he feels himself turning, and curiosity forces his eyes back open. Looking up, he can see the massive hand twisting around, wrist bending this way and that. Out the corner of his eye, he glimpses the man's head tilting in curiosity, and the hand continues twisting side to side. The movements have him rotating in the air while the human looks on intently, and Vasquez clenches his jaw, indignation bleeding into fear as he's examined like an object.

"Jesus," the man breathes out, speaking more to himself than to Vasquez. "I ain't one for drunk hallucinations, but no way in hell is this real."

Vasquez bristles, already feeling humiliated enough without having his very existence declared too absurd to be real. Eyes narrowed, he breathes a little harder, anger beginning to overwhelm his fear.

Without warning, another hand drifts into view, and Vasquez tenses at the feeling of massive fingertips brushing against his side. A light pressure surrounds his own hand, the man's thumb and finger taking hold for even closer inspection. His gut clenches tight as he feels every detail of the rough skin, protruding callouses and fingerprint grooves, and no-- _no_ , it's too much.

Something in him snaps, and he pulls away harshly, his hands and feet striking against the massive digits. Furious curses spill from his mouth faster than he can process them, and he isn't certain they all come out in the same language. He twists and thrashes, knowing it's pointless but wanting nothing more than to make his rage known.

The man pulls his other hand away, staring wide-eyed at Vasquez's flailing, cursing display. After a short while, Vasquez stills, his movements only making him feel tired and helpless. He glares up at the man, and for a moment, the human just looks at him, seeming uncertain how to react. His eventual response is less than gratifying, to say the least.

Giving a somewhat toothy grin, the man huffs out a laugh. "Hell of a mouth for such a little fella."

Well, that does it.

Practically growling, Vasquez swings his feet forward to kick the man in his chin. While the action causes no damage, he can't deny how good it feels, and it even earns him a slight flinch from the human.

Figuring he's got nothing to lose at this point, Vasquez pulls out his gun. Never has he been so disappointed at what a far cry it is from the real thing, but he pulls the trigger anyway, shouting another curse as he does. The shot goes off, striking the man just under the corner of his lip. Though the damage is minor, the man does let out a small, irritated hiss at the unpleasant stinging sensation. He rubs at the spot, looking a great deal less cheerful.

"Well _shit_." The man stares incredulously at Vasquez. "That felt pretty damn real."

Fury somewhat dampened by satisfaction, Vasquez allows himself a smile. Whether his actions were brave or stupid, not giving into fear had been his only hope for some dignity. If he's going down, at least it's with a fight.

Bold as he'd felt, though, he can't ignore his wavering confidence as the man continues to focus on him, eyes gleaming with a new sort of interest. The initial shock is gone, as are all the man's doubts. Vasquez is most certainly real, no longer an unimportant if diverting trick of the mind. Something stirs low in his belly, a terrible feeling that his best use is now being decided for him.

Belatedly, his mind informs him that he may have done better to get on the human's good side by _not_ shooting him in the face.

His life literally in someone else's hands, Vasquez stares forward, doing his best to keep a steady expression. The man's other hand moves toward him again, and he's ashamed at the new surge of fear he feels. He shies away from the extended fingers, certain he's about to pay for having the nerve to defend himself.

But nothing touches him. Nothing pokes, prods or squeezes. He looks to the side in confusion, and all he sees are two fingers hovering near his gun. They press against it just slightly, but make no move to grab it, and one glance makes it clear the human is only trying to get a better look.

Even so, Vasquez clutches the weapon a little bit tighter. The man shifts his gaze, and there's a look of comprehension in his eyes.

"This belong to you, then?" He asks.

Vasquez furrows his brow. His mind doesn't quite process the words at first, too busy puzzling over the oddity of a human addressing him so directly. But when the question registers, he can't summon up any reason why it shouldn't be answered.

Staring apprehensively, he holsters the weapon.

"Sí," he replies.

The man nods a bit, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Well, it's no wonder you went off in a rage," he says. "I wouldn't take too kindly to one of my guns bein' swiped either."

Taken aback, Vasquez blinks rapidly a few times, not bothering to hide his confusion. Of all the things he'd expected when he'd drawn his gun on the human, an expression of understanding most certainly hadn't been one of them.

He's imagined being discovered by humans many times in his life, during sleepless nights or in those panicked moments where hiding is nearly impossible. His thoughts have grown dark, envisioning cruelty and derision, pain and captivity, but not once has his mind supplied the possibility of an actual conversation.

For a moment, all he can do is dangle awkwardly, wondering what the hell he's supposed to say. While the potential for danger has somewhat abated, he remains on edge. The human's manner is easy and laid back, but even so, he's shown himself to be an infuriatingly smug bastard. More importantly, regardless of any shared attachment to guns, Vasquez is still hanging from the man's fingers like a kitten by its scruff.

He narrows his eyes, deciding he has ample room to push his luck with this particular human.

"And you would take kindly to _this_ , cabrón? Being hauled up in the air without any say in the matter?"

He gestures downward with his head, emphasizing the height he's dangling at. The man looks down, eyebrows raising up as if he's only just realized how high the distance is from Vasquez's perspective, especially when suspended so precariously. When he looks back up, he seems to finally take in the humiliating position he's put Vasquez in.

"No, s'pose I wouldn't," he concedes. To Vasquez's relief, he begins lowering his hand.

Everything sways back and forth as the man shifts around, crossing his legs to make more room. Gently, Vazquez is placed on the soft mattress, his vest released from the man's strong hold. He straightens the garment, expression sour as his gaze drifts upwards. While he's certainly pleased to be firmly on his feet, he doesn't consider it to be any sort of favor.

His mood isn't improved when he takes in the sight above him, not quite managing to keep his expression steady as he looks up at the towering human.

Even sitting down, the man looms over him in a far more imposing manner than he seems to be aware of. His eyebrows furrow at Vasquez's momentary flash of unease, but thankfully he makes no mention of it. He does, however, find another way to be a nuisance.

"So... you got a name, little fella?"

Hand placed lightly on his holster, Vasquez seriously considers shooting the enormous idiot again. But he knows it would only be a small irritation, and the weakness of the weapon may very well be cause for amusement. As it is, the man is already smirking at Vasquez's dark expression.

"If you don't want me callin' you that, I suggest we introduce ourselves." The man gestures toward himself. "Name's Faraday."

It seems that's all he's going to give, as he then looks down expectantly.

Vasquez stares, meeting Faraday's gaze with apprehension. A part of him wants to walk away and slip back down the rope without another word, though he wonders if Faraday would let him. Curiosity isn't easily ignored, and allowing Vasquez to disappear for good might be out of the question.

On the other hand, this man has been unpredictable since the moment he picked up Vasquez's gun, never quite doing what's expected of him. In such a short span of time, he's been the source of both panic and relief, and Vasquez can't help his own curiosity.

With a mental shrug, he responds. "Vasquez."

Faraday smiles, a genuine smile with only the slightest hint of his enduring smugness.  "A very strange and unexpected pleasure to meet you, Vasquez."

Leaning sideways, he reaches toward something on the floor. There's a soft clinking sound as he pulls a bottle into view, the dark glass gleaming in candlelight.

"Whiskey?" He offers, holding the bottle toward Vasquez. "Might be a little restitution for stealing your gun and giving you one hell of a scare."

For a moment, Vasquez wants to protest the claim that he'd been scared, but knows he wouldn't have a leg to stand on. Instead, he narrows his eyes at the overhanging bottle.

"You expect me to drink that without drenching myself?"

Faraday huffs out a laugh. "Enough whiskey to take a bath in sounds just fine to me."

Snorting softly, Vasquez replies, "I'll bet it does."

Looking only slightly offended, Faraday unscrews the lid, reaching back to place it on the nightstand. He takes a hefty swig, then looks down as if considering something.

"How'd you know I got a hold of that gun, anyway?" He asks.

Vasquez shrugs casually. "I know a lot of things," he says. "When everyone's too oblivious to see you, it's easy to keep an eye on things."

Faraday nods. He takes a sip from the bottle, and there's a flicker of pride in his eyes.

"Not everyone's so oblivious," he says, smirking a little.

Slowly, Vasquez smiles back, his smug expression rivaling Faraday's. "Sí, it was _very_ clever of you," he says. "Managing to notice me after you woke up and I was standing right on top of you."

Faraday's eyebrows set down low, and his expression borders on a pout. But almost instantly, he relaxes back into an easy smile, shrugging his shoulders in concession.

"Guess it's not usual for you, then. Putting yourself in plain view, climbin' up on top of folks."

Vasquez snorts, shaking his head. "This is the first time I've been stupid enough to do that."

Faraday grins. "Well, what would life be without a stupid risk every now and then?"

"Safer." The word is aimed more towards himself than Faraday. "Easier, quieter."

"Boring," Faraday says decisively.

While he agrees with the sentiment, Vasquez can't ignore his reality. He gives a mirthless smile, shaking his head at Faraday's response.

"Trust me, boring is better for some."

"Not you, though." Faraday's thumb slides around the rim of the bottle, and his eyes fall on Vasquez inquisitively. "What's so wrong with takin' a risk from time to time?"

Eyes narrowing, Vasquez looks at Faraday as though he's lost all semblance of basic reasoning. It's the only explanation he can conjure for such a stupid question.

"Maybe try looking at me and asking that question again," he replies. He's perhaps more pleased than he should be, having the freedom to speak to a human in such a condescending tone. "I'm smaller than your goddamn _shoe_ , cabrón. You think I can just go around doing whatever I want?"

" _Most_ folks can't do whatever they want, not for long anyway," Faraday points out. "Maybe it ain't the same for you... a gamble usually means life or death, right?"

Vasquez nods.

"Well, you can insist all you like that caution suits you. But even with high stakes in mind, you were awful quick to risk everything for that gun."

"Sí, and I was being an _idiot_." Vasquez stares at Faraday, wondering why the concept of his limited world is so difficult for the man to grasp. "You're not doing much to prove your point."

Faraday smiles.

"Lucky for me, I'm not tryin' to prove you weren't being stupid. Trust me, I know reckless behavior when I see it."

Vasquez huffs out a laugh. "You say that like it should surprise me."

Undeterred, Faraday cuts easily through the amusement. "When it comes down to it, I think stayin' safe ain't really the most important thing to you."

Vasquez opens his mouth to argue against the presumptuous statement, but Faraday is quick and steady with his words.

"I imagine you've been trying to warn yourself away from danger pretty much all your life, but look at you now. A chance at excitement comes your way, and you just can't resist."

Eyebrows raising in challenge, Faraday takes another sip of whiskey.

Much as Vasquez wants to shoot back a response, he finds himself too thrown off for the moment. There's no mental script, no practiced words to fall back on. Faraday is treading far from his expectations, asking him questions and making observations. Getting to _know_ him.

Maybe it should bring him comfort, having such a normal conversation. For now, it's all a bit too strange to handle, calmly interacting with someone who shouldn't even know he exists. Giving himself a mental shake, he tries to assert his point again.

"Doesn't matter if I like excitement," he says. "I wanted my gun, wanted to avoid another dull night, and look where it got me."

Faraday frowns.

"C'mon now, it's not _all_ bad," he says. "You've got your gun back, and I reckon it's time I stopped hoggin' this whiskey."

He turns, and Vasquez stumbles back a bit as his shifting weight makes the mattress creak and groan. Reaching toward the nightstand, Faraday plucks up the lid he'd placed there earlier.

"This small enough?" He asks.

Vasquez looks up at him, shaking his head. "You don't have too--"

"Ain't any trouble." Faraday tilts the bottle carefully, pouring the tiniest drops he can manage. "I figure you could use a drink."

Lid held gently between finger and thumb, he moves his hand toward Vasquez, offering the whiskey. Vasquez just stares at it, shoulders hunching a little.

There's an awkward pause, only broken when Faraday lets out a soft laugh.

"Not still scared of me, are you?"

Vasquez wants to roll his eyes. Wants to casually disregard the joke. But he hesitates, and his tight-lipped silence is enough for Faraday to realize his attempt at humor didn't have the desired effect.

It's brought something to the forefront, a relentless anxiety Vasquez has been ignoring in favor of maintaining some semblance of calm.

While he's well past the point of fretting that Faraday will cause him physical harm, he hasn't managed to fully shake his apprehension. He can't help wondering if Faraday has considered his value, or what he could gain from keeping him in his possession. Regardless of all his dashed expectations, there's still a terrible feeling in the back of his mind, a feeling that Faraday will end up being exactly the sort of human he'd feared.

He looks up warily, and sees that Faraday's eyes are focused elsewhere. Following his line of sight, Vasquez turns to see the bedpost, as well as his handcrafted grappling hook. He'd considered running off earlier, but curiosity had kept him in place. Now, as he turns reluctantly to look back at Faraday, he wonders if something else will keep him here.

Faraday's eyes are on him again, looking more gentle than Vasquez had anticipated.

"You can leave whenever you want, y'know." He pulls the offered whiskey away, then nods toward the rope attached to the bed. "I'm not fixin' to keep you here."

Vasquez blinks. Slowly, his shoulders relax, and he doesn't quite manage to keep his surprise from showing on his face.

"Oh." He looks up at Faraday, shuffling awkwardly. "I... thank you."

Faraday gives him a strange look. "Not sure I've done you any favors, but you're welcome, I s'pose."

Vasquez clears his throat uncomfortably.

"It seemed like you wanted me to stay," he says. "I just... I guess I didn't know if I could leave."

Faraday smiles sympathetically. "Wanting you to stay and  _making_ you stay are two very different things."

Vasquez responds with a small nod, feeling a bit silly after hearing such direct words of reassurance. Despite everything he's believed in life, here he stands, completely at ease in the company of a human.

As he ponders the strangeness of it all, Faraday looks down at him, smiling more cheerily.

"And hell--" He shrugs a little. "--why _wouldn't_ I want you to stick around a while? It'd be pretty damn stupid, not even trying to have a conversation with the most interesting person I've come across."

Vasquez furrows his brow, feeling certain he isn't deserving of that title. He looks up at Faraday, shaking his head.

"I'm not interesting," he says. "Just... small."

Faraday laughs, shaking his head as well. "I'd bet good money your life is a hell of a lot more interesting than most of the folks in that saloon."

Vasquez snorts.

"C'mon, now," Faraday encourages. "One thing I can say for certain, I've never been shot straight in my goddamn face before."

Tilting the whiskey bottle, he takes another swig.

" _That_ was pretty interesting," he says.

Vasquez stares at him for a moment, then grins. He can't help but laugh, chuckling softly at the peculiar human.

Faraday laughs with him, and slowly it settles into a quiet smile.

"Well, like I said... you can go any time you want." His smile fades a bit with the words. "But I get the feeling you've taken plenty more risks than gettin' your gun back from me, and I'd kinda like to hear those stories."

Slowly reaching down, Faraday offers him the whiskey again.

Vasquez stares at the lid for a moment. Instinct pulls at his mind, his thoughts drifting to a quick descent down the rope behind him. But he doesn't turn around, doesn't move to step away.

He reaches up, taking the lid in both hands. It's less like a cup and more like a bucket, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

"I guess... I have a few stories," he says.

Faraday grins at him, and Vasquez grins right back.


End file.
